


Dressage

by SpookyHoodlum



Category: Bad Samaritan (2018)
Genre: Bruises, Cages, Collars, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Leashes, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsession, Physical Abuse, Serial Killers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyHoodlum/pseuds/SpookyHoodlum
Summary: some connected vignettes about Cale and one of his victims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Collar

It’s the first night in the cabin and Winnie is on edge. A remote cabin in the woods would have been a dream come true in different company, in a completely different situation. He has got all of his tools laid out on the table, neat and organized. He holds up the bit, marred by her teeth marks. 

“We’re past this, aren’t we?”

A mute nod. She absently tongues a bloody split in her lower lip, his eyes flick towards her mouth but he says nothing. He puts the bit down, and holds up a leather collar, demonstrates the shock device attached to it. The way he looks at it and looks at her, he’s relishing this part. Winnie sighs and holds up her hair before he asks. Cale huffs in amusement, leaning forward to fasten it around her neck.

She stares at her lap, feeling his breath on her cheek and neck, certain he doesn’t need to lean so close to do this. Perhaps this is another test. His fingers brush the back of her neck and her shoulders tense and hunch. He’s not moving away, and somehow she finds the nerve to turn her head and stare into those bottomless eyes. 

He tilts his head, and does that strange, not-smile, petting the side of her head. “Good girl. You learn fast.” Then he was up and walking into the next room. Winnie exhales like she’s been holding her breath for the last five minutes, covering her mouth with her hands. Whatever that was about, she didn’t want to know.


	2. Leash

“I’m hooking this to the front of your collar. You will not touch it. If you do, there will be severe consequences. Do you understand?” 

She nodded, he gripped her chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes sir.” The words tasted like gravel.

“Good.” He hooked the leash to the ring on the front of her collar and made sure it was secure. 

He was pleased with her behavior and asked what she wanted for her reward. Winnie took a chance and asked to go outside, and to her surprise, he agreed. The leash was not a surprise at this point. 

The other end of the leash was wound tight around his hand as he led her outside. Cold air hit her face and she sucked in a breath, she hadn’t smelled fresh air in what felt like so long. Winter air and snow brought back a surge of memories, Christmas at her grandmother’s house. The glow of tree lights and the aroma of cinnamon nutmeg. She bit the inside of her cheek and tamped those memories down like gunpowder. Not here. Don’t think of them while with him.

The walk was silent except for boots crunching underfoot. They passed something that looked like a stone slab in the ground. For some reason the sight of it filled Winnie with a shivering dread so she kept her eyes forward. Cale was at his most dreadful when he was quiet. He soon revealed the nature of this excursion. He suddenly stopped and stood in place. 

The first time Winnie wasn’t paying attention, she kept moving and got a sharp yank, the collar snapping against her throat. And Cale was deceptively strong, the force of it almost knocked her off her feet. Of course, he would turn this into another test. After that, she stopped and stood still every time he stopped. She wasn’t stupid. 

They were a good distance from the house now. “Not bad. I only had to correct you once.” He stroked the side of her head. There was a glimpse of his wrist between glove and sleeve and Winnie imagined biting it hard. She said nothing. He turned and tugged the leash. “We’re going back in.” 

On the walk back, she did not have to be corrected.


	3. Dance

Winnie had to wonder if this was the most uncomfortable she’s felt over the course of her captivity. It was less confusing when her captor was just beating and hurting her, for her, it was simpler to process that trauma. ‘Tenderness’ from Cale was like holding a venomous snake, all it takes is one wrong move. 

She was covered in fading bruises (how long has she been with him?) in a white sundress and following him in a box step waltz. She knew it was another training exercise where she was to follow his lead. Rhythm and routine, as he put it. She did her best to concentrate on only the steps, not their clasped hands, not his hand on her side, not that she was close enough to smell him; leather, Armani cologne, and a trace of pine. 

“You’ve done this before.” He remarked, guiding her into an underarm turn and back together again.

“Cotillion.” She replied, staring straight at the front of his sweater and his collarbones. She remembered that white dress, the itchy opera gloves, all the product in her hair just to make it behave for that one night. Winnie tried not to think about his eyes boring into her forehead, or that only inches kept their bodies apart. 

She let him guide, her bare feet moving carefully over the smooth wooden floor. Another turn, but as she came around to face him again, her hand was at his mouth, dark eyes connecting with hers as his lips brushed warm and soft against her knuckles. Static needles crawled up her arm and she tried to pull away but he held tight. The momentum of her rearing back, he used to pull her back in, her chest thumped into his and he held her there. He tsk-tsked at her, his face far too close to hers. 

“Easy. We’re not done yet.”


	4. Final Exam

It’s all second nature to her now. She knows the routine, she goes through the motions. He hasn’t had to correct or scold her in what must be a couple weeks, her bruises have mostly healed. Winnie is surprised she hasn’t worn a groove into the floors, she walks the same path every day. She feels blank, a hollow vessel. Cale doesn’t ask her what she wants for a reward anymore because she always chooses a walk outside. But he wants to try something new; no leash.

They walk, side by side. Twenty feet from the cabin, he stops. She stops. Another twenty feet, he stops, she stops. One more time, again, he stops, she stops, and then he does something else unexpected. He tells her, “Keep walking.”

Winnie moves past him, her steps slow and measured. He is testing her. He wants to see if she’ll try to run.

“Stop.”

She stops ten feet away without turning around, unmoving. Winnie stares into the endless labyrinth of trees. No way out. She has accepted this. There’s a rush of footsteps, then she’s grabbed by the shoulders and spun around. Cale looks close to ecstatic, the same joyous gleam in his eyes that she saw when he first collared her.

 _“Excellent.”_ He cups her face in cold, trembling hands. Long fingers card into her hair, petting, stroking. He tilts her head up so their eyes meet. “That’s my girl.” He leans in closer.

She closes her eyes as his lips press to her forehead, the same touch that made her nauseous, she now leans into. Her hands don’t itch to scratch and slap him, she doesn’t dissolve into her usual fantasy about biting him. He had won. She was his now.


	5. Sleeping Foal

Cale almost never set foot in the cage himself, and never while the foal was asleep. He stood over her bed watching, staring. Her hair was getting long. He tried cutting it once himself but it was too difficult and he wouldn’t shave it off, a foal without her mane would not do. She said she had been cutting her own hair for years and asked to do it, but he wouldn’t trust her with the scissors at the time. It could have been a ploy to stab him, or herself. So he let her hair grow. It looked better, in his opinion, and easier to brush and make it shine the way a mane should. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out that Winnie was very smart. It wasn’t lost on him...the way she looked at him, those big blue eyes taking everything in, analyzing so he could see the gears turning in her head. That was part of what made her special; that intelligence with her wild spark. That spark kept him from handing her the scissors; he could see her potential for violence. 

He tilted his head, studied the profile of her sleeping face. His eyes traced her brow, the curve of her up-tilted nose, her parted mouth, her small chin. She had become so pretty during her time with him. The evolution always magnified their beauty, when the foals learned the way they should. She had reached the final stage with flying colors. He remembered the ecstatic feeling in his chest when he took her on that walk. Cale gave her the chance to run, and she must have noticed that he didn’t take the gun with him. She had a golden opportunity and she didn’t take it. She used to grimace and shudder at his touch and she let him kiss her forehead. He could not express enough how proud he was. 

She was captivating now. He wanted to see what else she would do under his guidance. How else can she be molded? He had already torn her down and rebuilt her anew, but he felt like there was so much more that could be done. It would be a waste to have her dead and rotting in a grave full of lye. He put off her ‘release’ so that he could continue watching her like a firefly in a jar. 

Winnie suddenly stirred and blinked awake. She startled seeing him there and sat up leaning on her elbows. This was not routine, her expression was a confused and worried frown. Cale tutted quietly, reached out and caressed the side of her head, smoothing sleep-tousled hair. She tilted her head into his touch a bit, but still eyed him warily. He shook his head.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

He exited the cage and locked her back in, for now. She graduated from the bit, the leash, even the collar was becoming unnecessary, despite how beautiful it looked on her. The cage too seemed ill-fitting for her now. He was beginning to see other ways she could evolve. It was late, but Cale would not sleep tonight. There was too much to think about.


	6. Horseshoe

Winnifred had lived in the house for a few months now. It was over a year since he began his work on her. She outgrew the chair, the collar, the cage, and she passed every test he threw at her. The lye pit remained untouched and would be reserved for the next foal to come into his care. He was unsure when that would be, he was busy passing off his last foal as his niece. No one seemed suspicious for now. He would feel calmer when the documents that would confirm her ‘identity’ arrived.

Cale entered his house through the garage, carrying a small shopping bag in his hand. He announced his presence at the end of the hall leading into the main living area.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome back.” She replied, turning her head to look at him. She was seated on the couch, watching a nature documentary. He nodded at her and she nodded back, turning back to the television. He watched the back of her head for a moment, putting down his keys in their spot.

“Come here.”

Winnifred muted the television, stood up and padded over to him. She had grown into a beautiful mare, with her long dark mane and storm blue eyes. He had almost forgotten the damaged, skittish foal she used to be. Cale was proud of how far she had come and how she continued to evolve.

The collar was beneath her now. She never raised her voice to him unless necessary, and that was reserved for the cabin for training. However, he missed seeing her wear it, what it meant for her to wear it. A symbol of his claim on her. So, he got creative.

He took the small velvet box out of the bag, and offered to her. “Here.”

Winnifred’s brow pinched in confusion. Everything he gave her the past months were essential things like clothes and shoes, or personal care items.

She carefully accepted the box from him. “What’s this for?”

“Open it.” There was a tinge of excitement in his voice that he didn’t bother to hide.

The necklace inside was white gold; a delicate chain with a small, elegant pendant shaped like a horseshoe. He watched the gears turn in her head, as she realized the nature of this gift. A decoration for his little thoroughbred. A ‘collar’ she could wear without arousing suspicion.

The corner of her mouth curled. “...It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Hm.” He nodded, still studying her face as she admired it. Not that whether she liked it or not was terribly important. She looked up at him, seeing his expression. Without a word, she handed him the box, turned her back, and held up her hair with one hand.

Cale’s hands nearly trembled as he clasped it around her neck. She knew exactly what he wanted without him saying a word. Her understanding of his expectations earned her this gift, and he wanted both of them to know who remade her into what she was now. It would be their secret.

His fingers brushed the back of her neck, her hair. He guided her to turn back around so he could see. The horseshoe gleamed at the base of her throat, he couldn’t help but touch it.

“Beautiful.” He lightly gripped her chin in his hand. “...Don’t take it off.”

She nodded in response. “I won’t.”

“Good.” His fingers traced the side of her face to slide into her hair, caressing. He pulled her in and kissed her forehead; a growing habit of his.

_Mine._


End file.
